Michele Archives

October 4, 2005

Michele: Point. Not. Point. Not.

He had to make the bus, or he’d once again be embarrassed by his mother walking him to school in one of her homemade floral housecoats, pins and needles from her latest sewing experiment stuck in the sleeves.

He forgot his lunch. His mother, all blubber and daisies, came running after the bus, Frankie’s lunch in one hand, sewing scissors in the other, her arm fat flapflapflapping as she ran.

The bus pulled away just as Frankie’s mother tripped and fell hard onto the point of the scissors.

“Don’t run with scissors, ma.” Frankie whispered as the bus turned the corner.

*title is an inside joke with myself, though one out of hundreds may understand it.

October 11, 2005

Michele: One Night in Bangkok

“Bradley, this is a steakhouse.”
“Ya think? What gave it away? The neon sign that says Jack’s Steakouse or the platters of dead cow?"
“Ohmygod. I can’t believe you took me to a steakhouse for our week anniversary.”
“What? You wanted to do a movie instead?”
“Bradley! I’m a vegetarian!”
“And they got lots of vegetables here.”
“This is unbelievable. You should’ve let me pick.”
“Oh, a night at Terry’s Tofu Tavern would have been just heavenly.”
“At least you would have stood a chance at getting inside my tofu tavern.”
“You did not just say that.”
“Fuck. I did.”

October 12, 2005

Michele: Where Evil Dwells

“Hark! Do I hear the sound of a woman in peril? Duty calls!”

Flash! Like a streak of lightning he bolts across the sky, honing in on the sound of panic.
“I am here to save you, m’am! Fear not, for I shall banish whatever evil lurks around your home!”
The woman is in the kitchen, her hands held up to her face in sheer terror.

“My hero, a last, you have arrived! Jim will be home soon and I’ve burned the roast!”

October 17, 2005

Michele: My Cup Runneth Over

I know it’s wrong, but nourishment is scarce since the plague; healthy blood is hard to find and I’d rather not wither to dust.

I entered the church at midnight and located the sacristy. Still feeling uncomfortable about what I was doing, I did a quick sign of the cross (that does not kill us) and drank. Lucky me, it was blessed. I could feel the life coursing through me.

Then I saw the priest standing there.

He cut my stomach out with a pocket knife, squeezed and drained my fluids into the wine vessel.